


Sorcerer

by cat_77



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-03
Updated: 2013-03-03
Packaged: 2017-12-04 05:41:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 18,337
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/707176
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cat_77/pseuds/cat_77
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Magic is revealed and the ban repealed, but is Merlin now no more than a title?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sorcerer

**Author's Note:**

> For the lovely Sinka, who bid on me at the Help Japan auction. This ended up far more Gen than I originally planned, but there’s plenty of angsting and such, so hopefully you will find it acceptable. *g*
> 
> * * *

Arthur did not lift the ban on magic once he became king, not immediately at least. There were long months of coronations and conferences, of delegations to and from other kingdoms who proudly displayed their sorcerers and sorceresses and dared him to do something about it. He finally did something, but it was not what they expected, nor was it for the reasons they all believed.

King Lot’s delegation had just arrived and made their grand entrance when a young serving girl, not much more than a child really, produced a dagger and attempted to drive it deep into the recently crowned sovereign. Merlin had been in attendance and noticed something off about the girl, the way her eyes were wild and she had a familiar looking strip of black with an elaborate red tree worked into the pattern upon her dress. He did not even think, not really. He saw the blade and the sigils of Morgause’s followers and simply reacted. The magic welled up within him and lashed out and, when it was all said and done, the girl lay on the floor unconscious and he stood in the centre of a room full of people, hand raised and very clearly having just committed an act of treason.

Lot apologized immediately, of course, though Merlin did not hear a word he said. He saw only Arthur’s eyes and the look of betrayal within.

Within a fortnight magic was decreed legal and Merlin released from the cells. He was not given his old room back, but escorted to separate chambers that had been set aside for him at the end of a dark and dank corridor. His precious few belongings were laid out along with a case of books and codices he knew to be taken from a hidden part of Geoffrey’s library, and the Sidhe staff lay damningly across the linen coverlet.

Arthur did not speak to him of it and barely looked him in the eye when Merlin came to his rooms that evening after he had washed and changed. With his back turned and gazed fixed solidly on the window that led to the courtyard below, Arthur advised Merlin that he was not to be put to death or even banished for his lies. Due to his performance in front of Lot’s delegation, word had spread that Camelot now had a sorcerer on their side and he would not seek to take away that advantage.

Merlin did not know what to say. He could feel the distrust and hurt rolling off of Arthur in waves. He managed a choked, “Arthur?” knowing it did not convey everything he wanted to say, needed to say about his secret and why he kept it for so long.

“You are dismissed, Sorcerer,” Arthur ordered in reply, and did not even have the decency to say it to Merlin’s face.

Merlin went back to his new room, not knowing what else to do. A serving maid brought him dinner, and the steward asked him what supplies he would need. Neither stepped further than the tiny table near the entryway, and neither looked at all comfortable in his presence. 

Gwen came the next morning though, sat herself down at his dining table though the door was left open and a guard watched warily from the hallway, and demanded that he tell her everything he neglected to tell the steward. She seemed so real and true and like nothing had happened, like their world and relationship had not changed so drastically, that he found himself slipping back into their easy banter. In the end though, after she insisted that he procure a new wardrobe and possibly some decorations for the drab grey walls, she stood at the doorway and whispered, “I do wish that you had told me.”

“With everything that happened with Morgana, I just...” he started, but could not finish, the words sounding weak to his own ears.

She smiled ruefully, eyes shadowed and far from filled with their usual light, and replied, “Which is precisely why you should have told me.” With that, she was gone, the heavy door swung back into place, the footsteps of the guard echoing as they followed her. 

Merlin looked around his room with its walls of stone and simple windows made of bars of glass, the tans of the linen blending with the browns of the woods, and could not help but wonder if he had just traded one cell for another.

The next morning he washed and readied himself like he would any other day. He feared he may have overslept a bit, not used to the softness of a proper mattress after so long, a fear reinforced when he got to the kitchens to find a bewildered cook tell him that no, there was no breakfast for Merlin to bring the king as the new serving boy had already done so.

Merlin was confused, but figured it did make sense that Arthur had someone take his place during the long days he had spent in the cell. He went to Arthur’s rooms anyway, saw more than a single guard look at him askance in passing, and knocked on the door. He entered, as usual, after barely hesitating, only to find Arthur sitting at the table with a platter of meats and cheeses, fully dressed and with his rooms nearly spotless.

“What are you doing here?” Arthur asked. His eyes were narrowed slightly, but Merlin could not tell if that was from exhaustion or anger. 

“I was going to bring you breakfast, but the cook said it was already brought,” Merlin tried. “So I thought I would pick up, straighten a bit, maybe clean?”

Arthur looked around the room with a raised eyebrow. “As you can see, your services are unnecessary,” he replied.

“But...” Merlin began, but was cut off.

“You are not my manservant anymore,” Arthur explained with more than a slight huff of exasperation. “You are a sorcerer, the Court Sorcerer, really, and your talents are not needed at this time.”

Merlin recognized a dismissal when he heard one, and hung his head and left Arthur to his morning. As he walked back to his new room, he wondered just what he was supposed to do now with all the time he would have on his hands. He also wondered just how he was supposed to protect Arthur if he was not to be around him. Finally, he wondered if this is what it was like when a destiny was fulfilled and all that was left were the remnants of the tools used to reach that conclusion, and if they were to slowly rust and fade away without further use.

He confined himself to the room that day, and the day after that, but felt he was, perhaps, being a bit ridiculous. Not to mention the guilt he felt when a servant, a former friend, would come to deliver his meal, eyes averted like they were serving some tyrant or nobleman, and leave as quickly as they came.

The following morning, he rose with the dawn. He scrubbed his face clean and dressed in the clothing some unfortunate soul had left him the day before. He passed what he knew was to be his breakfast in the hallway and took an apple from the plate and told the girl to keep the rest for herself. He tucked the fruit away in his pocket and strode out to the main courtyard, only partially surprised when no one tried to stop him.

He walked further, through the gate and into the town proper. He nodded his hellos to people who dared to greet him, but noticed more than one person shy away, tuck a child behind them, and whisper the word, “Sorcerer,” like a curse.

Marus, one of the baker’s sons, stopped him and tucked a cloth of fresh bread into his hands. “From mum,” he explained. “She knows it’s your favourite.”

“Thank you,” Merlin told him, feeling a smile twitch at his lips for the first time in days.

Marus shrugged. “You have always been good to us; no extra title should change that, yeah?”

Merlin nodded his assent and watched him go. It was only as he nibbled on the still warm gift that he thought to wonder if it was a gift of friendship, or a payment in tithe to someone they now feared. 

He passed the lower town, pausing only to purchase a small jar of preserves along the way to enjoy with the bread. The woman who sold it to him smiled and patted his hand and told him how happy she was that she and her sisters could be free to hang up their mother’s charms without trepidation for the first time in far too long. He said his pleasantries and truly hoped she did not undercharge him for a service he did not feel comfortable taking credit for.

He made his way through the familiar fields and through a tiny bit of woods to where he knew the grass tapered off to a gently rolling stream. There he propped himself up against a tree, gazed out at the water, and just took time to let nature seep in around him. It was a little chilly with the bite of the coming winter in the air, and he wished he had brought a heavier jacket or maybe a cloak with, but otherwise it was bliss to just sit and connect with the land and all it had to offer and wonder at all it could become.

He was throwing the last crumbs of bread to the wildlife when said wildlife took off in a panic, one of the ducks nearly clipping his ear with its wing as it passed. He turned in time to see an armed man swing a sword in his direction, the blade sending shards of bark flying about as it embedded itself near where Merlin’s head should have been.

“What do you want?” Merlin asked as he frantically searched for something to use as a weapon.

“I’ll start with you dead and move on to a pretty purse of coin,” the man sneered. He pulled his sword free and spun around to continue his attack.

Merlin ducked and dodged and finally found a sizable branch to use in defence when he tripped over a stone nearby. The blade cut through the wood, but it managed to slow the momentum enough for Merlin to roll to the side, dirt and wood blinding him for a moment until he regained his bearings. The man continued to advance though and, finally, with enough time to think and feel and do more than simply react, Merlin remembered one more weapon at his disposal.

A word and the man flew against the same tree he had nearly destroyed at the start of their encounter, a solid thud signalling his journey into unconsciousness. 

Merlin breathed heavily for a moment, but a moment was all he was given before a second man dressed in similar shades of blue and black emerged from the shadows of another group of trees. Merlin felt pain erupt along his right arm and knew his latest dodge was less than successful. A stumble and a push later, and he was on his back, likely tripping over the same blasted stone as before. The man stepped forward and Merlin uttered the same spell to send him flying, only this time his aim was off and there was no convenient tree to knock him out, and he fell on his arse instead.

Still unfortunately conscious, the man pushed himself to his feet and lunged towards Merlin, only to be stopped by a whirl of red and silver. A clang of a swords later, and the man joined his companion and Gwaine knelt by Merlin to check him for injury.

“Are you okay?” Gwaine asked, keeping his sword within reach in case there were more bandits waiting to attack.

“Fine,” Merlin assured him. His hand went to his arm just under his shoulder where the pain was the worst and his fingers came away stained red. “Okay, so maybe not so fine,” he admitted to the knight’s doubting gaze.

“Let’s get you back to the castle to have that looked at,” Gwaine said. He offered a hand and helped Merlin to stand.

Merlin winced as his ankle protested the movement, and knew he likely turned it on the damned rock. It was his left, which meant he had successfully damaged both sides of his body in one go, which may well have been a record for him. It was not broken, as there was not nearly enough pain for that, but it would be uncomfortable for a while and he was not looking forward to the return journey.

“I have a horse if you need to ride,” Gwaine offered with a knowing look.

“I’ll be fine,” Merlin waved it off. Both Gaius and Arthur had told him you need to walk off certain injuries anyway to keep the blood flowing and the ligaments from locking up. It would be less than comfortable, but would aid him in the long run. 

Gwaine nodded and notably took the reins of his horse to walk beside Merlin instead of ride himself. “Any idea what they wanted?” he asked, sparing a glance at the unconscious men they left behind. The men’s weapons were tucked safely amongst the saddlebags so there was little chance of them trying again, even if they should awake in time.

Merlin shook his head. “The first one freely admitted he wanted me dead, thought he’d get some coin out of it or something.” He really did not wish to think the coin was from a price on his head and tried to convince himself the nicer than usual clothing simply made him look well-off, even if appearances were deceiving. When Gwaine frowned at his words, he could not help but ask, “And what are you doing out here anyway? Stalking me? Lurking in the shadows to see if I run away?”

Gwaine simply laughed and the sound of it put Merlin at ease as much as his promise of, “No, I’m here to make sure you get back to the castle. Lancelot and Gwen saw you leave and were worried about you. Turns out you can quite take care of yourself, but it also turns out you didn’t mind a bit of help there towards the end.”

Of course it all came down to magic. Merlin had no idea if Gwaine had seen him against Lot’s assassin, but he clearly had now and, from the tone of his voice, was still trying to reconcile the man he called friend with the man who could throw someone across a clearing with a single word.

“Gwaine, look, you have to know I did not want to keep this from you,” Merlin began. “It’s just... well, it seemed easier not to get anyone else involved, to put anyone else at risk for harbouring a sorcerer when...

“When you were just being what you were born to be?” Gwaine finished for him. He ran a gloved hand through his long hair and said, “Hey, I get it. Uther banished me for saving his son’s life so, really, I appreciate the fear of his tyranny. Why you stayed there knowing the risks when there were so many other places you could be I will never understand, but I think I could have at least tried to understand the magic, if you had given me a chance.”

Merlin bit his lip, and not just from the ache in his arm and ankle. “I am sorry,” he told him, and truly meant it.

“I know,” Gwaine assured him. There was a pause followed by, “Are you sorry enough to get on the damn horse so we can get you home faster, or is this some sort of self penance thing?”

Merlin snorted despite himself and shook his head. “Walking is good for it and we’re not that far away. Besides, there’s no one there to bandage anything but me anyway, so what’s the hurry?” He thought of Gaius and how he retired the day Arthur took the crown. He lived with Hunith in Ealdor now, safely tied to Arthur’s new lands, yet living the peaceful life for the last of his years. Arthur had not found a new physician yet, leaving Merlin to both Gaius’ rooms and to the position he had been training to take over anyway. That would be changed now, to be sure, but in what way Merlin had no idea.

“I’ll wrap it myself if need be,” Gwaine cut into his thoughts. At Merlin’s doubtful look, he defended himself with, “I have treated more than a single wound in my time, most from less than noble activities to be sure, but I do know enough about cleaning and bandaging a cut to get me by.”

They walked the rest of the way in relative silence. The people of the town seemed to pay him even less mind upon his return than when he left. Only one older woman tsked in sympathy to his wound, and one mother tucked her child away, though looked almost ashamed for doing so.

Gwaine followed him all the way to Gaius’ old chambers after handing the reins of his horse to a stableman and dutifully grabbed whatever Merlin requested. He paused though as he unrolled the cloth that would serve as a bandage to ask, “Why don’t you use your magic to heal it?”

Merlin struggled with his tunic for a bit and spared a thought as to what Gwen would say about him already destroying his new wardrobe, before he replied, “It doesn’t work like that. Well, not for me at least. There’s always a cost and why risk that price when a smear of herbs and a piece of linen can do the job just as well?”

Gwaine looked as though that made sense to him, at least on some level, and let the matter drop for now. He wrapped the wound to Merlin’s precise instructions, but also insisted that Merlin remove his boot to check the damage to his ankle. As expected, it was minor, though still tender. Merlin grabbed a satchel with the tea Gaius had used to reduce swelling and pain and hoped it was still potable, and then let Gwaine escort him back to his new room even though he was tempted just to stay and use his old bed one more time.

He passed out only to wake up sore and alone. There was another cup of tea waiting for him on the stand next to his bed, and flagon of wine next to a cold dinner on the main table. He could only guess they were gifts from Gwaine as Arthur would not let him have wine on a good day and this was far from ideal. 

His mind then drifted to Arthur, and what the new king would think of all this, if he even cared to know. His supposed sorcerer, the one that was to match wits and power to those the other kingdoms had on offer, taken down by some random brigands and saved by knight who just happened to be curious enough to lurk along. Perhaps it was best that Arthur was actively avoiding Merlin at this point, because Merlin had no idea how to explain that one to him at all.

He allowed himself only one mug of wine and knew even that was an indulgence. He ate what he could manage of the meal and left the remnants for morning. He did not dare leave it on the doorstop as he did not know this area of the castle well enough to know if it would be free of rats and did not wish to take the chance of luring them to a new food source. That taken care of, he settled back in bed with a randomly chosen book from his newly stocked shelves and managed to get a whole five pages in before he fell asleep once more.

He awoke to the sun slanting in through his small set of windows, an aching head, and memories of a dream in which Arthur wandered in, took one look at him and shook his head at his sorry state. At least he thought it was a dream, hoped for it, really. His dishes were cleared and replaced with fruit and porridge, the flagon of wine nowhere to be found but there was enough water for him to brew some more of the tea with a simple spell to heat it. He sipped on that and debated what to do for the day.

The decision was made for him when he struggled with his tunic and aggravated his wound. He shoved his feet into his boots and tightened the left one as much as he could stand before he limped out into the hallway and down to Gaius’ rooms. The lock was easy enough to take care of, though he questioned who had closed it given he truly did not remember doing so the night before. He entered and found more of the makings for the tea and some more of the balm for his cut and sat down on the well-worn bench to take care of them both.

He perhaps stayed there longer than he truly needed, but he found the workroom comforting and familiar. He knew every bottle and every bundle, knew which texts were real and which were just for show. Most importantly, he knew that Gaius had told him he would always be there for him in some way and he really did believe that some part of him remained in the room of wood and glass.

He noticed the balm was some of the last and knew how often it was needed, so he decided to brew another batch. He was halfway through the process when the door opened and a less than amused Arthur walked in and demanded, “What are you doing?”

Merlin was startled, but managed not to burn himself as he regained his composure. He limped slightly as he stepped away from the fire, and knew Arthur saw the action despite his best attempts at hiding it. “We were low on balm so I thought I would make some more. Nearly every knight has his own supply, but it is always wise to have stores,” he replied, only slightly flustered.

Arthur wrinkled his nose, either at the explanation or the smell of the ointment in production. “I thought only witches brewed in cauldrons, not sorcerers,” he said disdainfully. 

“Witches, sorcerers, physicians, anyone who needs to boil down ingredients to make their wares,” Merlin corrected. If he had hoped for a smile, he was sadly mistaken.

Arthur simply looked about the room with a practiced eye and announced, “The room is yours to do with what you will. If we do find another physician, he can have separate chambers assigned if need be, ones without secret tomes and spells cast about I’m sure.”

Merlin struggled to find something to say to that, but was still too tired and too sore, and perhaps a little light-headed from sitting too close to the brew to think coherently. It did not matter anyway, as one of the newer knights that Merlin did not know so well came to grab Arthur’s attention away, an attention he seemed to give quite willingly if it meant he did not have to spend further time than necessary in the sorcerer’s presence.

Merlin tried to think about Arthur’s reactions as he waited for the balm to cool so he could separate it out into little pots. He could understand some anger and, yes, some resentment at not being told for so long; Gwen and Gwaine had freely admitted the same. Arthur lifted the ban on magic, so he must have seen that it was not pure evil, despite the challenges presented time and time again. What did not make sense to him was the absolute dismissal of anything remotely to do with Merlin himself. 

Perhaps it was a difference between theory and practice? Arthur knew in theory that magic did not need to be evil. He also knew that the root of the majority of all problems presented to his father Uther had been his absolute ban on anything and everything magical and the zero tolerance of the slightest infraction. It was easy to make enemies when you killed their kin. Perhaps Arthur hoped to limit his enemies? Or to make Camelot more in line with the given way of thinking of other kingdoms? 

Arthur would do it for diplomacy’s sake, much like he courted the daughters of dukes and kings that he despised just to have a chance at a better treaty or a sounder ally. That did not mean he necessarily liked it. This could mean that he did not necessarily like anyone to do with it, something that most definitely included Merlin when it came to magic, or so it seemed.

Merlin had no idea what he could do to fix things though. Arthur was raised to hate magic and everything to do with it. Just because he was shrewd enough to pretend to understand the need for it to calm the people and gain support did not mean he was going to change something that was at the very core of his being. In time, maybe, he would come to better terms with it, but Merlin feared the last remnants of any sort of friendship would be dead and buried long before that happened. He also feared he was just as much responsible for that destruction as Arthur’s own biases given that he had willingly deceived and lied to Arthur for far too long to go without guilt in the matter.

He mourned the loss even as he tried to come to terms with it. If he could not be Arthur’s friend, he could at least still be his protector, whether the stubborn man wanted it or not. He could stay by his side for as long as possible and use everything at his disposal to keep him safe. Their destiny was to see in a new age for Albion and that age was at its cusp, but not yet fully concluded. Merlin would carry out that destiny, help create a land where people could be happy and free even if he himself did not get to enjoy that freedom, knowing he served a higher purpose. And maybe, just maybe, Arthur would one day see him as a friend again, if not at least a man and not just a title of “sorcerer” beside him. If not, well, then once Albion was united, maybe Merlin could retire like Gaius, find himself a small place to call home, and fade into history with a little less fuss than he currently found himself surrounded by.

He finished his task and lined the pots out neatly across the table. He was a little hungry, but the fire was still warm and he was quite tired and so he settled into Gaius’ old rocking chair, propped his feet up, and drifted off to sleep.

He awoke to the sound of the door closing with a thud and he opened his eyes to see a meal had been delivered without a word. The little pots were shifted to the side to fit the plate, and a tankard was set beside it. No wine this time, only water, which was fine enough by him, though he took it also to mean that it was not Gwaine’s doing this time around.

He built the fire back up before he dug in to the stew. When he finished, he puttered around a bit more, organizing and shifting and utterly avoiding going back to his barren residence. Finally, when he could find nothing more to occupy his time with, he stood to leave, stopped both by a vicious yawn and the spike of pain in his ankle. 

He eyed the door to the corridor with its long halls and many staircases, and then eyed the door to the little hovel he had called home for so long. The decision was easy enough, even if he was not certain his bedding remained. No one wanted a tiny cot like he had slept on, so he found it in its usual place, worn blanket tucked around the edges. He kicked off his boots and tucked himself in to that, the familiar thin mattress with its poking supports lulling him to sleep in no time.

The next time he woke it was to the feeling of being watched. He opened his eyes to find Gwaine leaning against the door jamb, free of the usual trappings of a knight and a fond smile on his face. “You know the king gave you far nicer quarters than these, right?” he verified with raised eyebrows.

Merlin stretched and swung himself up into a sitting position, feet cold against the stone of the floor. “Don’t like them and Arthur said Gaius’ rooms were mine to do with what I wanted for now,” he yawned.

Gwaine just shook his head fondly. “You would prefer to stay in a tiny little place with a tiny little bed instead of actual real chambers set aside for you: are you sure you didn’t hit your head during the attack?”

Merlin looked around the admittedly tiny and crumbling room and shrugged. “I’m used to this. The other room, it just isn’t me.” He stood and hobbled towards the door to gesture at Gaius’ chambers full of herbs and books and everything else. “This at least has something to look at other than grey stone walls.”

Gwaine seemed to take that affably enough, but his eyes narrowed at Merlin’s still swollen ankle. “Let me wrap that for you and then we can see what we can do about making your actual room more interesting, yeah?”

Merlin was tempted to say this was his actual room, but knew enough not to argue the point. Gwaine seemed to think it was some sort of honour or prize to be thrown in room at the end of a nearly abandoned corridor but, then again, the man preferred his own company more than that of most of the knights, so maybe it was something to him even if Merlin did not see the merit to it at this time. 

He was also tempted to tell Gwaine that his ankle was fine, but one glance to the purpling mess and another to a rather determined knight told him he would be wasting his breath. Instead, he grabbed his boots and shuffled down the short staircase to the main room to find the fire stoked and the scraps from his meal cleared away. There was none in its place, which meant some poor serving girl likely trudged all the way to his room and was now trudging all the way back while another was told to clean up his mess from the night before and had missed the fact he was still asleep in the back. The wood for the fire was stacked the way Gwaine always set up his campfires, so Merlin was fairly certain it being more than smouldering embers was a recent occurrence. 

He sat down on the bench and let Gwaine do his thing, which he did with a surprising amount of care. The wrap could have challenged one of Gaius’ own for as well as it was tied, and had the benefit of still fitting in his boot – something Gaius never cared for as it meant the patient would be up and around and less likely to rest. Gwaine insisted on checking his arm as well, but was apparently satisfied with what he saw as soon enough he pulled Merlin to his feet and out of his little sanctuary.

He stopped along the way to try to charm a serving girl into sending wine and sweetbreads to the chambers, something Merlin snorted at as the girl was Marie and would have found a way to do anything Gwaine asked, charm or no, as she was quite enamoured with him to say the least. Gwaine got confused as to which actual room was Merlin’s as he had never been down that corridor before, but opened the door with a flourish once verified he had the correct one. Once inside, he took in the browns and the greys and the utter emptiness of it all and made a face. “Okay, so bland it is,” he agreed as he walked around the perimeter. 

“Told you,” Merlin sighed as he lowered himself into one of the chairs. As expected, the table was clear with no food to be had.

“Well, then do something to make it more home-like,” Gwaine suggested. At Merlin’s questioning look, he expanded, “I don’t know, conjure something or buy something with that new salary of yours.”

“I barely got paid for working my arse off every day, I highly doubt I am to get a raise for sitting on it,” Merlin challenged. He was not about to admit that the thought of conjuring something rather frightened him as he had no idea if he would be creating it out of thin air or stealing it from someone else.

He could not quite read the look Gwaine gave him next, but the tone was far too familiar. “Didn’t anyone tell you about you are to do?” The words “you idiot” were silent, but still audible all the same.

Merlin snorted in response. “Who? Arthur? Our great king has barely said two words to me since he discovered my little secret. Pushed me away to this corner of the castle and told me to leave him be. I highly doubt I can schedule a review of job duties and salaries when I can barely say hello.”

Whatever Gwaine was to say in response was drowned out by the warning bells the echoed across the courtyard and through the room. Both men were beside the windows in an instant, looking out to see guard after guard and knight after knight assemble. Merlin pushed the glass open enough to hear the panting squire announce that they were under attack, with an estimate of a scouting party before a full legion approaching. A patrol had been slaughtered and its reinforcements were already under fire, the squire sent back to warn the others in hopes of saving the city.

“Merlin, st-” Gwaine started to order, but never got the chance to finish.

Merlin was out the door, pained ankle and empty stomach forgotten as he barely remembered to grab his cloak as he ran. He knew Arthur would want to meet the enemy on the fields outside the city, to try to destroy any potential attack there and protect as many of the townspeople as he could to give them a chance to seek refuge within the heavy walls of the castle. He also knew that this meant the men were already in motion, flooding through those same walls to reach whatever location had been deemed safe enough to damage if it gave them a potential advantage.

He heard the pounding of boots behind him and knew Gwaine followed. He reached the courtyard to find Lancelot and Leon already buckled into their armour, squires tightening the saddles of their mounts to take the weight, others readying themselves as they ran either to the horses or to the gates.

“Merlin? What are you-” Lancelot asked as Merlin stepped between him and the horse he was ready to ride.

“Sorry, but another one will be along in a bit, yeah?” he called as swung himself up and over the saddle and took off. Behind him he heard shouts and something that sounded suspiciously like Gwaine stealing a sword, and possibly Leon’s horse, but before him he could only hear the chaos of the townspeople panicking and the ring of steel on steel.

It was easy enough to find Arthur, his knights not having let him run down into the thick of it yet so he was shouting orders from atop the hillside, waiting for an opening to join the fray. “What are you doing here?” he demanded as Merlin dismounted.

“Showing you why you have a bloody sorcerer in the first place,” Merlin retorted. He realized that he may have not truly planned this out as he currently stood before a small horde of armed men with not even a hauberk or sword of his own, something Arthur was no doubt noticing at the same time.

“They are wearing the same colours as the men who attacked Merlin,” Gwaine panted as he dismounted. 

Arthur whirled about at that, mouth opening and closing a few times before he managed, “When was he attacked and why are you not armed?”

“Trying to stop him from getting himself killed and he hasn’t been limping about because he stubbed his toe,” Gwaine replied without care that he was speaking to his supposed sovereign. He lifted the stolen sword to show that he was, in fact, armed, just not armoured at the time.

Merlin spared a thought of conjuring something for him, only to realise he was likely to take Arthur’s own away from him in the act and that would not end well for anyone. It was, however, tempting when Arthur huffed, “And what is he going to do now, wave his arms about and hope to scare them? This is not a single child; this is a vanguard for a legion!”

“Similar concept, grander scale,” Merlin advised him. Just to be contrary, he did wave his arms, though it was mainly to free them from his cloak. He could feel the magic rise through him, the pulse of the earth match his own, the fire and light within draw down to his fingertips and set his vision alight.

He imagined a wall pushing against the horde and could feel it as it came into being. He pressed and pulled and tossed about anyone who dare challenge that wall, forcing them from Camelot’s lands, Arthur’s lands, his lands. It was not a perfect solution as he knew several men were already engaged against Camelot’s knights and he could not use the same strategy without affecting his own allies, but it severely limited the number of men those knights had to take on, so that would have to be good enough until he could find another way.

A single soldier charged up the hill towards Arthur, and Merlin flicked him away like a flea. Another tried to circle around the back and was met by the newly arrived Leon, sliced down when he would not stop. There was something else though, something more tickling on the edge of Merlin’s awareness. He turned slowly to the right and saw them, hidden in the branches of several tall oaks. “Archers!” he announced, but at least two had already released a volley of arrows that currently soared towards his position.

Gwaine pulled Arthur down, shielding him with his own body until Arthur pushed him off and switched their positions, and Lancelot tossed Merlin to the ground, vambrace cutting painfully into his abdomen as he held him in position. “Let me up!” Merlin demanded, but his friend would not budge.

“They are still firing,” Lancelot replied, grunting as an arrow embedded itself only a handbreadth from his head.

“And I can stop them,” Merlin countered, pressing against him. He was tempted to throw him off with magic, but both did not wish to hurt his friend and did not know if it would leave that friend momentarily exposed as a target. He was fairly certain he could keep up the rest of what he was doing regardless, but there was always the chance that the wall too would fail.

“So can our own archers now that they know where they are so stay down!” Lancelot ordered, shoving him lightly into the ground for good measure.

Now it was Merlin’s turn to grunt as the simple action seemed to take far more out of him than it should have. He watched as Lancelot raised his head to get his bearings, and then winced when the armoured man eventually let him go and pulled him to his feet. He immediately checked to make sure no one had broken through his wall while he was distracted, but it looked as though the enemy had called a retreat and all he could see was soldier after soldier swarming away.

“You did that?” Gwaine asked, clearly impressed as he took in the fleeing men.

“It’s a bit more than tossing a thief about, but yeah,” Merlin shrugged. It was rather hard to catch his breath and he was not sure if it was from the excitement of everything that had happened, or if he was simply bruised from having a full-sized knight on top of him. He was also fairly certain the wound on his arm had reopened during the debacle, but he was not about to make himself look inept or weak by checking it now.

“That wall of light you used, is it permanent?” Arthur asked. His eyes traced the perimeter and Merlin wished he could have told him what he so clearly wanted to hear.

He shook his head instead and admitted, “No, it’s only there when I put it there. I haven’t found a spell for that kind of warding yet.”

Arthur nodded, but said no more. Merlin took it as a small victory he had even addressed him directly, even if he had not dared to look him in the eye.

He looked behind him to where the castle stood whole and unharmed and breathed a sigh of relief. Whoever it was that attacked would likely regroup and try again, but at least they had time to plan now, and meet them on their own terms instead simply respond. 

He took a step towards that castle, his ankle reminding him that his arm was not his only concern, but found a hand on that very arm and looked up to find Lancelot standing there, ready to catch him when he faltered. “Why don’t you ride back to the castle? I seem to have found myself with an extra horse,” he said, eyes lit with amusement.

Merlin was chagrined, but not sorry. He let Lancelot help him up onto the horse and hand him the reins, sparing a glance to where Gwaine was sheepishly trading swords with Leon, and turned back towards home. The knights would sort out the watches and patrols and everything else that needed to be done. He planned on sleeping, and possibly taking a double dose of Gaius’ tea to make certain he did.

* * *

He returned to the castle with far less fuss than when he left. He nearly slipped from his horse when he dismounted, but if anyone noticed they did not say a word. The guards opened the doors for him and he trudged back to his room, which he found just as drab as before, save for the addition of a flagon of wine and a plate full of sweetbreads, reminding him of Gwaine’s visit before they were interrupted. 

Famished though he was, he only managed to cram down a couple of the sweets. He drank a single mug of wine as well, though it was as much to wash down the food as it was to rally his courage for the obvious discomfort that awaited him when he removed his tunic and boots. As expected, his arm was stained with blood. Not so expected was the graze along his side that did not appear to match the pattern of Lancelot’s vambrace. Given the tiny little feather embedded in the material of his shirt, he assumed an arrow had perhaps got too close and maybe his friend was right to knock him down after all.

He bandaged his arm with the help of a spell, and wrapped a clean cloth around his waist even though the wound was shallow and slight. He did not bother rewrapping his ankle, but did pull on a sleep shirt before he crawled under the covers and let the warmth of the wine in his belly lull him to sleep.

The sun through the window was warm against his skin when he heard the whisper of voices.

“You can’t just barge in without knocking!” That was Gwen, her voice far too familiar after all these years.

“Oh, come on! He’s probably back in Gaius’ old room anyway and this will be a surprise.” Gwaine. Definitely Gwaine. The wheedle was his and his alone. Of course that wheedle turned to a surprised, “Or, maybe not...” when he stepped into the room to be met with a sorcerer sitting dishevelled and upright in his new bed, hand extended and flames at his fingertips.

“Go away, I’m sleeping,” Merlin mumbled as he drew the energy back into himself and extinguished the flame. He flopped back against his pillow and resisted the urge to pull it over his head.

“Yes, but you should not be if you hope to do so tonight,” Lancelot chided. Merlin had to give him credit for barely blinking at the magical outburst.

“Plus, we brought presents!” Gwaine cut in with a grin, recovering his own surprise quickly enough.

Sure enough, he held out a tray filled with enough food to feed a small army, a pitcher of something no doubt potent perched perilously on its edge. Behind him, Gwen carried a vase full of flowers and, to her side, Lancelot carried something large and cloth-like and likely actually found or gifted by the woman making a face at the room at his side. A woman whom, out of respect for and likely hoping to dispel rumours about, they left the door to the hallway open so any and all passers by would not think her a participant in something improper.

“Why haven’t you decorated yet?” she asked as she set the vase on the table.

“Been a bit busy stopping armies, you know how it is,” he yawned. The action turned into a wince when he stretched too far, but it did not look as though the invading trio caught it.

“I asked him the same thing,” Gwaine admitted as he set down his burden. “At the time it was something about being attacked and not knowing he had a salary and such. He may well have an excuse for anything,” he reasoned with false innocence.

It was Lancelot though, who proved Merlin’s earlier assumption wrong. He had laid out the material for Gwen to do with it as she pleased and now eyed Merlin carefully. “You are injured,” he declared. Gwen stopped her fussing with something shockingly blue to turn to him with raised eyebrows.

“I was injured,” Merlin waved off the concern. “Now I’m just tired.” It was not worth it to hide the fact from his friends, especially considering one had already seen at least two things for himself, but he could at least allay their concerns. Besides, he was fairly certain that the bandage on his arm was visible beneath his sleep shirt. Given that he still mostly had the blankets tucked up around him, it was doubtful they could see the rest, at least for now.

Gwen sniffed the flagon on the table knowingly and asked, “How much of this exhaustion is from saving the castle and how much is from drinking more than you should?”

“The wine is from me,” Gwaine took full credit for it. “I asked a maid to bring some in hopes of raising Merlin’s spirits and figuring out what to do with this place, but we were never got that far before the warning bells rang.”

Gwen looked sceptical, but let the matter drop. She did, however, do something even more terrifying and start to tug at the coverlet Merlin was currently wrapped up in. When he held it close, she chided, “Come on then, you can’t actually like that ugly thing. You said your room was boring so I got you something to brighten it up a bit.”

That at least explained the cloth, but Merlin really and truly was still tired and could sleep for far longer than just the afternoon if given the chance. Seeing the determined look on his friend’s face, he highly doubted that chance was forthcoming. “Sleep?” he tried anyway. He pulled the blanket back and tried to hold it down.

It was pulled away, Gwen’s face laughing down at him. “No sleep, not yet. Let me change this out for you while you get something other than sweets into you,” she corrected.

“I’ll eat if you join me,” Merlin tried even though he dreaded actually moving. He hated to see her work while he did nothing; at least this would be some sort of a compromise.

“You let Lancelot and Gwaine look at that arm of yours while I change the bedding and then all four of us can have supper together,” she said instead. He glared at her for seeing right through his plan.

A thought occurred to him though, and he asked, “Don’t you two have to patrol or something? Draw up plans?”

Lancelot shook his head. “That pleasure goes to the king and to Leon, though even they have already done so. You were asleep for longer than you thought. The Mercians seem to still be in retreat. We estimate at least two more days before they try again. In the interim, we are changing the patrols and adding guards to the gates.”

“We have the night off and are free until midday tomorrow, though I plan to make a pass along the parapets before bed,” Gwaine chimed in. Lancelot nodded in agreement with the idea.

It took Merlin just a moment too long to realize each had claimed a side of the bed and were edging upwards towards the head. By the time he figured out what they had planned, the blankets were pulled away from him, stripped from the bed, and in a heap on the floor. “I hate you both,” he glared as he shivered.

“I know you do,” Gwaine agreed without sympathy. “Now get up.”

He grabbed one arm and Lancelot the other and they tugged until he was upright and then tugged further until he was up and out of bed, clearing the mattress for whatever nefarious purpose Gwen had in mind. She even had the gall to hum to herself cheerfully and she got rid of the last of the linens.

He winced again when Lancelot’s fingers came too close to his wound, and this time he knew immediately that the action did not go ignored. “Off,” the knight ordered with a quick pull to his sleeve.

“I am not stripping while there is a lady in the room,” Merlin outright refused. Even with the door open and probably a guard stationed within hearing distance, that was far from proper.

“I’m busy over here,” Gwen called from behind another length of fabric. He did not want to know just how much she had brought with her. “Though, if you prefer, Lady Elaine left a beautiful screen inlaid with coral flowers that we could move in here for privacy.”

He could hear the wicked smile in her words and did not need to see it to know it was there. “I hate you,” he repeated.

To give his friends credit, Lancelot did position himself to give Merlin at least a suggestion of privacy as he pulled off the sleep shirt to expose skin and bandages to the cold room and Gwaine positioned himself to block the view from the doorway. Lancelot peeled back the wrapping on Merlin’s arm and seemed happy with its progress as he tied it back into place, but Gwaine, of course, noticed there was something new to be had. “What happened?” he asked. His fingers twitched at the cloth around Merlin’s middle as if unsure whether it was safe to remove it.

“Arrow, I think,” Merlin grimaced. “Barely a scratch but I thought it best to treat it since there’s no telling where those things have been.”

That was taken as permission for Gwaine to see for himself. He unwrapped the cloth and gently exposed the wound, reapplying the salve Lancelot handed him before wrapping it up again. Finished, they helped him pull the shirt back on and added one of the discarded blankets to ward off the remaining chill of the room.

“Next time, please let us know that you are injured so we can see to your wounds timely,” Lancelot chided.

Gwaine, however, offered a bit different advice. “Next time? Duck.”

Merlin snorted out a laugh and settled himself at the table, stomach growling when he took in everything on offer. Gwaine was over by the grate though, poking at the coals to try to bring them back to life. “Do you have a flint?” he asked when they seemed to flutter and fail.

“Don’t need one,” Merlin smirked. He lifted his hand, barely whispered the words, and the flames leapt anew.

“No, I don’t suppose you do,” Gwaine agreed easily enough. He watched Merlin yawn again and asked, “Does it tire you out, doing so much magic?”

The others had gathered around now and Merlin knew it was likely only one of the multitudes of questions they wanted answers to. He thought about it for a moment before he admitted, “Not really, at least not like you think.” He saw their curious expressions and elaborated, “It’s like any task, really. It takes effort, but it’s not like starting a fire is going to knock me out for the evening. It, the magic, is so much a part of me and always has been, that it’s like breathing or walking or something else so mundane that it just seems so normal and non-extraordinary, really. I don’t know how to explain it.”

“You seemed quite tired after everything you did today,” Gwen pointed out. “More so than your usual duties of serving the prince, running errands for Gaius, or keeping me out of trouble.”

Merlin thought about that and was forced to agree. He was also forced to admit, “I don’t usually do quite so much. Little spells here and there, major spells when they are important, but never really so many major ones all at once before. Perhaps they did tire me out after all.” He shrugged and felt the newly wrapped bandages pull against him. He could not help but wonder if his injuries were also playing a role in his lethargy.

“Perhaps it is for you like it is for a knight after battle: during the fight you have all the energy you could need and stores to draw upon, after the fight you want nothing more than to curl up on the nearest piece of soft land and sleep for a fortnight,” Lancelot suggested.

It sounded likely, but Merlin simply did not know. He tried to think back to other times, times when he did more than light a fire or toss someone about, but it was hard to remember for certain. He vaguely remembered being tired, but he had usually been doing other tasks, both physical and magical, at the same time, so there was no way to be certain which drained him more or if it was a combination of them both.

A plate was pushed in front of him, piled high the things he liked best. “Eat,” Gwaine ordered before reaching for a plate of his own. Merlin picked up a small piece of meat and watched as Gwaine did the same, popping it into his mouth before he said, “You said major spells, just what all have you done anyway?”

It seemed like far too great of a task to list everything out, and Merlin was at a loss as to where to begin. Lancelot, however, stepped in and replied, “Well, there was the gryphon, and that time in Hengist’s stronghold.”

Gwaine’s head whipped around at that. “Wait, you knew?”

Gwen’s eyes narrowed as she added, “All this time and you never said a word?”

Merlin rather liked that Lancelot was the centre of attention for a change and he watched as the usually much more courageous man swallowed nervously and said, “Well, when the weapon in your hand suddenly glows blue or a locked gate falls when a certain someone tells it to, you begin to suspect.” He held up a hand to stop the next round of questions and pointed out, “And you know as well as I that to admit I knew of Merlin’s magic would have meant both our deaths. He asked me not to tell and I kept his secret. I simply did not know that I was the only one doing so.”

Instead of dwelling on the possible death aspect of things, Gwaine prodded him and asked, “What else?”

Merlin swallowed the bit he had just taken and thought for a moment. “Lots of things, really,” he admitted. “I’ve picked more locks than I can remember, fought trolls and fairies and Sidhe, stopped bandits a few times, and all sorts of other things. I even took care of some of the wyverns that time.” He raised his eyebrows at Gwaine, who raised his own in response. Neither had spoken of that little adventure with Arthur, not even between just the two of them, so he feared even this much of an admission bordered on too much.

“It seems we all have secrets,” Lancelot commented wryly.

“What time? And what is wyvern?” Gwen asked.

“A wyvern is kind of like a dragon and the time in question is one I have sworn upon my very life not to mention to anyone not already there,” Merlin explained, adding a sheepish smile at the end to hopefully lessen her frustration at not being told the full story.

Her eyes narrowed again and she set down the piece of cheese she had just taken as she declared, “My father. That was you, wasn’t it?”

“Not the alchemy and not the stone. You must believe that was never me,” Merlin insisted. “And if I had known you would have been accused of witchcraft with his sudden recovery, I never would have done that either.” The thought of her being put to death for his crimes still haunted him, and he knew it was something he could never seek forgiveness for, even if she dared to offer it.

“You saved him,” she whispered. Her voice was so filled with sorrow and he wished again that he had been able to do more.

“Not in the end and for that I am so very sorry,” he replied.

Gwen shook her head and a curl slid free to coil about her shoulder. “You gave me more time with him, and for that I am eternally grateful.”

Merlin looked away, not able to accept her thanks, not now and possibly not ever. His gaze drifted to the door where he found an unexpected visitor. Arthur stood there, expression shuttered, arms crossed before him as he leaned against the jamb and looking as though he had heard far too much. Somehow, Merlin doubted this would help his case given that it served as further proof of his deceit and lies.

“Sire?” he asked nervously. He so rarely used the word with Arthur, even after he had been made king. Somehow though, he felt it was warranted now. If they truly had returned to something less than friends, at least it was a way of showing he respected the man, if not the attitude he bore.

The rest of the room turned as one to face their king and Merlin noticed the smallest shift in his stance, the way his eyes went from nearly wary to near stone. “Sorcerer,” Arthur replied, furthering Merlin’s belief that he had listened in on the conversation. “Do try not to keep my men too late with your tales of wizardry, they have tasks to complete tomorrow and I would prefer if their minds were on the matters at hand and not whether or not you will be setting fire to your rooms with a thought.” 

With that, he pushed himself upright and left, leaving Merlin holding his head in his hands and bemoaning his fate in life. “He hates me, doesn’t he?” he sighed to no one in particular.

He felt a hand on his shoulder, too light to be anyone’s but Gwen’s. “He does not hate you,” she insisted. “He just needs time to understand just how much you have done for him, for us, in your time here.”

Merlin wished he could believe her, but it was far too clear that he was not currently in his king’s favour. The fact Gwaine poured a near overflowing mug of wine and pushed it in his direction simply reinforced the issue as far as he was concerned. He took a deep draught and wondered if he would ever be able to look upon Arthur and see his friend again instead of the betrayed king that he now found himself with. Somehow, he doubted it would happen any time soon. 

The three friends stayed until the platter was nothing but scraps and both the pitcher and the leftover flagon were dry. Gwaine batted his eyes hopefully at Merlin as he held out his mug, but Gwen took it away from him and chided him for asking a clearly injured and exhausted man to work magic for him solely for more drink. None of them stuck around much after that, cleaning up as they left and leaving Merlin with the same boring room, now washed over in bright shades of blue, but with the original drabness still peeking through.

The legion did not come the next day, or even the day after that as was expected. On the third day, a throng arrived to press at Camelot’s borders, but made no effort to attack, no move to cross the proverbial line Merlin had drawn in the sand mere days before.

Merlin used the time to prepare. He read up on anything and everything he could find regarding warding and protection spells, going so far as to march right into Geoffrey’s realm and open the hidden panel in front of him to search for more. He helped Gwen set up an area for the inevitable injured and created the salves and medicines she would need to treat them. 

Midday of the second day he had been called into a Council meeting, only to be advised that “the sorcerer” will do this, that, and that other thing during the battle – no names were used, only titles, and it served to reinforce the fact that he was not a soldier, but only a tool to be used at the king’s discretion, a weapon and nothing more. He buried himself in his texts again after that, hoping to live up to the promises made and to master feats he had barely even read about, knowing the attack could begin at any time.

His wounds healed to faint red lines and his ankle faded to pale shades of yellow and green. He felt almost normal, at least for his new definition of normal. More importantly, he felt useful, and that is all that mattered.

It was not until the sun set on the fourth day that the sentries saw the faintest hint of movement in the camp below.

“What do they want? What are they waiting for?” Arthur demanded of the room at large.

Most of his men simply shook their heads, questioned the sanity of a legion idiotic enough the challenge Camelot’s might. Merlin had an answer though, knew it in his very blood as a surge of magic sent him stumbling nearly to his knees, caught only by Gwaine’s quick thinking.

“Their sorcerer has arrived,” he declared, the words sticking in his throat, thick and cloying as a new form of power pressed in across his borders. Arthur’s face paled at the pronouncement and Merlin bit back a sick sense of satisfaction at knowing his precious king had not planned for this.

Arthur swallowed heavily and clearly tried to regain his composure. “Can you defeat him?” he demanded with his usual brashness.

Merlin stood near the window and looked out into the blackness as campfire after campfire surged as one. “I don’t even know who it is,” he admitted. He turned to Arthur, hoping to convey the seriousness of the situation. He had never gone up against another sorcerer in battle before, not in all out combat like he knew this would be. He had taken them on one by one, lurking in the shadows while others fought the physical fight. This would be him versus his opponent on a field of battle, the lives of friends and family reduced to mere pawns even as they clashed against others in the background. “I don’t know how powerful he will be, or even if it is a he instead of a she. I will fight to my dying breath, but I don’t know if...” He trailed off, unable to find the words.

“Merlin,” Arthur said, and he wished he could enjoy the fact the king finally remembered his name.

“I need to prepare,” he said instead, and strode out of the room with a confidence he did not feel.

His magic tingled at his fingertips, pressing against the sense of intrusion that he felt within his own home. He wondered what he must have looked like as he walked quickly back to his room as servants and noblemen alike stepped out of his way to clear a path. He closed his door with a thought, but whipped around when it opened again, wondering if the battle was already to begin only here on his ground instead, but found Lancelot looking as serious as he had even seen him as he demanded, “What do you need?”

“I... don’t know,” he admitted with a slump of his shoulders. “I need to be strong enough and fast enough and to know enough spells to counter whatever is thrown at me. I need people to be far enough away to not get caught in any sort of crossfire and to not be used as weapons against themselves. I need to defeat this, whoever it is, before they have a chance to hurt Arthur, to hurt Camelot, because I will not be able to live with myself if that happens because I failed. I need-”

Lancelot’s hands were on him now, seemingly suddenly as he had just been at the door and now he was in the room, steadying him even as he shook him slightly. “Then you will have all of that, and more,” he promised.

Merlin shook his head. “You can’t just say that and have it be true,” he protested.

“Why not?” Lancelot shrugged and there was the faintest hint of a smile on his lips. “Is that not what magic is all about?”

Merlin wanted to say there was so much more to it than that, but knew the words would be lost. This was his encouragement talk, his rallying just as he had done for Arthur countless times before. He was starting to understand why Arthur always looked at him askance during those times even as he felt a warmth descend over him that someone somewhere cared enough about him to try.

He looked about his room for anything he may need. There were spells that required ingredients, others that needed tools. He could not bog himself down with items, but he could bring with smaller things if their worth was enough in trade. He dug through trunks and cupboards to find what he had, piled them onto the table to compare and contrast and pick and choose through to find what would be the most effective. Lancelot filled a pouch for him, placing the items in carefully and subtly testing its weight to make sure it would not overwhelm him should things break down to the physical.

He passed out only when guided towards the bed and physically pressed down, and only when Lancelot promised to wake him when needed. He awoke to find the knight propped in a chair at his side, clearly having spent the night there as well, racketing up the guilt to a whole new level as that was most certainly not to help with his fighting prowess come the battle. Lancelot waived him off and claimed to have slept far worse places than that, and tried to force food that tasted like sand down his gullet instead.

Merlin made one more pass around the room and could feel the other magic press in upon him as though trying to size him up. There was a knock on his already open door and he really did not want someone there telling him that the battle had already begun and it was now or never. Instead, he found Gwaine with a hauberk draped over his arm and a squire at his attendance. Considering Gwaine was already armed and armoured, this struck Merlin as odd.

The squire and the gear he carried were for Lancelot, but the hauberk was for him. At his questioning look, Gwaine replied, “We are not sending you into battle without some sort of protection, Merlin.”

He waved his hand, sparks at the fingertips, and said, “Er, sorcerer, remember?” 

Gwaine and Lancelot were decidedly unimpressed, though the squire took several steps away from him. Gwaine pulled him back and pushed him towards Lancelot while he managed the hauberk for Merlin on his own. He tightened the buckles one by one and jabbed him both in the arm and the side, right atop where his injuries had been, and commented, “You are not invincible, do try to remember that.”

Merlin wanted to reply that he not only knew that, but it was a fact at the forefront of his mind. He held back though, figuring it really was not a good show to admit he thought he was about to march to his death in front of people who did this sort of thing all the time. Well, not the going up against another sorcerer thing, he doubted they had the exact experience he was about to have, but they put their life on the line time and time again with only steel and skill to protect themselves, and the hope someone else did not have more of those two things than they did.

When he thought about it, maybe it really was the same thing. He had no idea what the other sorcerer had to offer, not yet, and could only hope to at least match skills if not conquer them. Given how many times his friends had come back from battle, perhaps he should let that thought warm and bolster him a little. So long as he ignored the times they came back bleeding and broken and needing more than Gaius could offer to make them whole again.

Gwaine had his attention again, a dagger Merlin faintly recognized waved before his eyes. “In case things get too close, yeah?” he said as he tucked it into place at Merlin’s waist. 

Lancelot slung the satchel over Merlin’s shoulder, careful to leave access to the more physical weapon, and asked again, “What else do you need?”

Merlin bit his lip and made his decision. He would need every weapon at his disposal and it would simply be foolish to leave one behind. He ducked beneath his bed and pulled out the Sidhe staff, having no idea why he still stored it there considering his secret was well and truly out other than from long practice and not wanting something so powerful within easy reach.

“A stick?” Gwaine asked doubtfully. “While I am sure it is a very nice stick, I have yet to see you practice with staves and have to wonder if that won’t actually slow you down in battle,” he admitted with a scratch to his stubble.

Merlin let a ghost of a smile grace his features for the first time in days. A thought and the crystal began to glow a blue to challenge that of the colours draped about his room. “It’s a bit more than a stick,” he confided.

“A very nice stick indeed,” Lancelot corrected. Gwaine simply nodded in agreement.

The squire looked frightened again and, really, some day Merlin would remember his name but it likely would not be today. He heard the alarm bells sound even as the push against him grew and he knew it was time.

* * *

Arthur had assigned a line of men to protect their border the moment the legion had appeared; this was in addition to the increased guards and patrols in place since the first attack and meant quite a few men were already engaged in battle by the time Merlin reached the field. Arthur was there, of course, with Leon and Percival at his side and Elyan serving as scout. He turned to Merlin a raised his eyebrows at his attire, but said no word.

“Are you ready for this?” Leon asked instead.

“I think so,” Merlin replied with as much of a decisive nod as he could manage. He tried to think about everything Arthur had told him, which walls to place where and whether or not it was possible to sweep the entire challenging army from the field without taking out their own men.

His concentration was shattered when a blast landed at his feet, four strides short of hitting its mark. The dirt and grass flew into the air though there was no weapon to be found, no trace of what had impacted. It did not take a genius to know it was the other sorcerer, testing his limits and seeing how close he could get. 

Merlin retaliated and sent out a fireball of his own. He could see the damage but knew that he too was short of target. He stepped closer of his own accord, two strides and nearly a third, his own magic welling up in him to finally press out against what had been invading his space for far too long.

Arthur caught him though as he raised his hand, flinched away at what Merlin knew to be eyes that glowed the same colour as his fingertips, and told him, “Forget everything I asked before. Just try to survive.”

“He’ll kill you,” Merlin said, and knew it to be true as soon as the words left his mouth. The sorcerer wanted him dead, wanted Arthur to suffer and perish for what his father did even more than the legion wanted the Camelot stronghold. 

“Well he’s going to make a fair try at you too, so don’t let it happen,” Arthur replied blithely. 

“He has to get through me to get to you,” Merlin shrugged, as though his life was not on the line, as though this was one of their random quiet moments of old.

He was not sure what else Arthur had to say at that. He was certain there were words, possibly encouraging but more than likely a bit derogative as well, but the ground shook beneath his feet and a wave of power washed over him causing him to take a physical step back. 

He cocked his head to the side, finding the other sorcerer amongst the combatants on the field, knowing he was trying to intimidate, trying to make Merlin doubt himself and leave an opening to exploit, trying to make him lose before the battle even had a chance to truly begin. Merlin smiled. He had gone up against fairies and trolls and Sidhe and Nimeuh herself. He had fought skeletons raised from their graves and armies that could never die. This man was nothing, and all his posturing had just showed Merlin the validity of that fact.

He let his power out from its carefully formed prison, let it guide his actions to its whims, feel and react far better than he could if his mundane mind had a chance to think things through. He felt fire at his fingertips and raw energy in his hands. His voice called upon spells he had barely glanced at, and they came to fruition and bowed to his will. A sword glinted before him and his staff flashed in turn, shattering it to a thousand pieces and sending the wielder flying into darkness again and again.

The other man with his flamboyant robes looked unsure of himself for a moment and Merlin pressed the advantage, formed shield after shield to stop the barrage lobbied at him even as he burst forth with volley after volley of his own. The rest of the world faded away, until he only saw, only felt the challenger before him. 

He called to the man as he felt the wall he pressed up against weaken, told him that this did not need to end in death, only defeat. The barrages continued to come even as the man replied that the two were one in the same and that he would have Arthur’s head as prize and hang it in Camelot’s walls upon his victory and that nothing would stand in his way. Merlin very calmly reminded him that he was wrong as Merlin himself stood in his way and he would not pass so long as he drew breath.

The man grinned and Merlin really should have expected something given that he could feel his enemy’s power draining and that there was no reason for him to be so smug unless he had something else up his sleeve, some other tactic that Merlin had yet to suss out.

There was a shout, not in the language of old that they had been using thus far, but in the same tongue Merlin heard inside the castle walls on a daily basis. His staff was knocked from his hand and he barely had time to glance at the behemoth that bore down upon him before the wind was knocked out of him and he found himself face first in the loamy earth. 

He turned, dagger at the ready, to find not a man in the blues and blacks of the other army, but Arthur in his reds and golds. “Get down!” Arthur shouted, which Merlin thought was a bit redundant given that he had yet to push himself up from the ground.

Arthur pressed him further though, covered his body with his own, and Merlin felt the impact of a blow, heard the chink of a sword against armour, and then heard a roar like no other. He squirmed and pushed against the weight that held, knowing that the sorcerer was still a threat and that his prize had practically handed himself over to him. He finally freed his head enough to glance up, and he saw the behemoth again, only this time his attention was held by Percival, who met sword with axe and easily tossed another interloper to the side while he focused on his goal.

He could feel the sorcerer try to search for his power, try to regain his magical footing for another attack and knew he would have no better opportunity to end this than now. He had no idea where his staff had ended up and could only count on the power within his own two hands to settle this once and for all. Then again, he still held the dagger in his hand, so he was fairly confident he had all the tools he needed and more.

“Off of me,” he grunted, but Arthur barely moved. “He’s coming for you, you idiot, now let me do my job and protect you,” he ground out and shoved with all his might.

He realized later that some of that might may not have been physical strength when Arthur ended up on his arse a good distance away, but it was enough for him to clamber to his feet get his bearings. Arthur, of course, had to prove that the title of “idiot” was well and truly his as he charged at the sorcerer, blade in hand, ignoring Merlin’s protests at the futility of the action.

The sorcerer, of course, dismissed him with a word and sent him flying into a well-placed tree. It was only after Arthur lay there, dazed and disarmed, that the sorcerer realized just who he had at his mercy and advanced to finish the job. Leon stepped in front of Arthur, sword at the ready even as he handed the king his dirk, and Merlin made his move.

The sorcerer whirled about as he sensed Merlin’s attack, blue and green flames held in the palm of his hand, but there was not enough room for him to shift and throw it at Merlin as ready as he had been to set Arthur alight. The fire still burned through the chain links of his hauberk as the sorcerer reached and grappled with Merlin instead, knocked off balance by a well placed shoulder to the abdomen. Merlin realized then that he held an advantage the other man most obviously did not as he had spent years training with Arthur and the knights, even if only in jest and fun, and knew enough about physical combat to gain the upper hand against someone who relied solely on his metaphysical abilities to sustain him. 

The man kicked and flailed but could not land his marks and did not know how to use his greater size and weight against Merlin’s far slighter form. He got in one lucky roll though, and ended up on top of Merlin, right hand raised and beginning to glow with a characteristic flame while his left hand sought purchase on the slick links of metal to steady himself. Merlin saw his opening and took it, the blade slicing deep and driving upward, the flames flickering out with the dying man’s last breaths.

The sorcerer collapsed atop Merlin, a dense and unmovable weight that slowly drained slick warmth across Merlin’s hand, stained his skin and made the tunic he wore beneath his armour stick uncomfortably to his skin. 

Just as Merlin thought he may well suffocate there as the battle waged on around him, the weight was lifted with an audible squelch and discarded at his side with a muted thump. He breathed deep and free while he could, opened his eyes to let his spotted vision focus not on elaborate silks but on grimy metal instead. He found his fingers being prised from the hilt of the dagger, one by one, the messy thing driven into the ground beside him, not useless, but no longer a threat until he needed it to be once more.

Hands were on him now, and a voice that sounded a thousand miles away demanded, “Are you all right? Are you injured?”

He could not answer, not yet, not when he was still trying to catch his breath and gather his strength to wipe out the opposing army. He feared he had used too much taking out a single man though, barely able to raise his head let alone wash the field clean of intruders.

“There’s blood, is it his?” It was another voice, and he knew he should recognize it, but it was far too much of a bother.

“Merlin!” the first voice shouted, suddenly crystal in its clarity and far too near. “Are you injured?”

He pushed against the hands, felt them fall away as the remnants of his magic surged and he heard a single voice mutter, “The glowing is a bad thing, right?”

He sat up, arm nearly giving way beneath his own weight, and expected to look out at a raging battle, ready to yell at whoever was fussing with him to get back to it, that there were far more important things to worry about than a single man knocked down when there was still a legion to be dealt with.

Instead he found the remnants of that legion dissipating, the tatters of an army fleeing with what little they had left. Men in blue lay scattered about the field, dead or dying, while men in red strode about and rounded up the survivors. There was the odd echo of steel here and there as minor squirmishes were decided and someone made a final lunge hoping to take down one more of the enemy before they surrendered to their own death but, for the most part, the battle was over.

“How?” he asked. His voice felt raw and overused though he could barely remember saying anything at all. Spells came to him unbidden, and he knew as they pressed against his mind that he must have spoken them to release them, and wondered just how many he had called upon to accomplish his task.

“We’re just that good,” Gwaine replied as he sat down heavily beside him. He tried to act bold and nonchalant, but Merlin could see the way his eyes flickered towards the blood, darted about as he sought out any potential wound.

“Well, that, and you took out a fair number on your own on your way to their sorcerer,” Lancelot added with far more honesty. He gestured behind him and Merlin found multiple unconscious bodies, all in a neat line, and more than one scorched as well as bleeding. 

“Oh,” he said, a bit anticlimactically. He raised his hand to scratch at his head as he tried to sort that out, but was stopped by the searing pain in his arm.

The motion, of course, did not go unnoticed by the people gathered around him. “What’s wrong?” Arthur demanded, suddenly so much closer than he was before.

Gwaine and Lancelot pulled at the buckles of Merlin’s hauberk, peeling the chains off slowly to expose the stained shirt below. “How much of this is you?” Gwaine asked as he tugged the sodden fabric free from his side.

“None, I think,” Merlin answered honestly. “It’s just my arm, really.” He turned his head to the side to look down at the mess for the first time. His sleeve was burnt in the precise pattern of row after row of chainmail, and he had a fair idea that the skin beneath it bore the same marks, only in red instead of black. His abdomen was stained with the other man’s blood, though he knew there were bruises waiting to blossom beneath the surface. Surprisingly enough the wound from the arrow had not reopened, so at least there was that.

His reassurances were apparently not enough for Arthur, however, who drew the dagger from the dirt and sliced through the patterned fabric at his shoulder to reveal the damage below.

“Hey, that’s mine,” Merlin protested weakly.

“No, it really is not,” Arthur smiled without humour. He tucked it into his belt with practiced ease and it was only then that Merlin realized where he had seen it before. That raised all sorts of questions, such as why a king who could not be bothered to speak his sorcerer’s name would still want him armed and protected, and why that same king dug through the various herbs and flasks in the pouch at Merlin’s side and asked, “Do you have anything in here to treat that?”

Merlin shook his head. “Not unless you want to burn the flesh down to the bone, or possibly make it explode.” Arthur’s hands froze and then he very carefully tucked everything back into place.

“Sire, why don’t you return with him to the castle to have that treated?” Leon suggested with only a hint of a smirk. “You took a nasty blow to the head and should have that seen to as well.”

Merlin noticed the thin trail of blood along Arthur’s hairline and the secondary one from just behind his ear and wondered if that explained the man’s newfound sense of caring. However, he had not yet been brained with a tree when he gifted Merlin with his own dagger, so perhaps there was something more at play that he had not yet discerned.

Arthur looked across the field at the utter destruction that still needed to be dealt with and sighed. “I could clean that up for you,” Merlin offered, and he was certain he could if only he could keep his eyes open. He was beginning to believe Lancelot and his suspicion that excessive magic tired him out.

Arthur looked at him doubtfully and said, “You could barely clean my rooms on a good day, somehow I doubt this is within your abilities now.” Instead of realizing he had just issued Merlin a challenge, he continued, “Tell you what, you stand on your own two feet and maybe I’ll let you clean my hauberk when we get back to the castle.”

He held his hand out and pulled Merlin upright, but staggered to the side when Merlin easily pushed against him and stepped forward into the lingering chaos of the field. A few whispered words later and the enemy men were corralled into a neat and possibly glowing paddock, the scorch marks erased from the trampled grass, and Arthur’s armour shone as bright as though it had been polished by the smith himself only moments ago.

Merlin turned and grinned knowingly at Arthur’s astonishment. Unfortunately, he only had a moment to enjoy it though before the edges of his vision turned to grey and he felt all the strength leave his body, beginning at his knees. He felt hands upon him once more, this time guiding him back down to the ground he had just struggled up from. Before he closed his eyes and gave in to the weight of exhaustion that surrounded him, he swore he heard a very familiar voice mutter, “Stubborn sod.” He was gratified to hear another voice, just as familiar and just as close, chide, “Yes, you are, sire.”

* * *

He did not remember the trip back to the castle, but there must have been one as he next awoke to a room lit by the light of the setting sun. He blinked to clear his vision, only to blink again as he took in his surroundings. He was in his room, his old room, propped up by pillows atop his tiny cot, only things were so moved about that he could barely tell up from down. Then again, he could barely keep his eyes open even now, so perhaps his exhaustion still played a role.

“Ah, good, you’re awake!” a voice boomed far too loudly to his left. He turned his head slowly in that direction, feeling every muscle he had ever pulled or twisted from his neck down to his toes protest the action.

“Arthur?” he verified, uncertain if his eyes were deceiving him. It looked like him, down to the small cut on his temple and the smarmy grin on his lips.

“The one and only,” the king in question replied. 

He had been sitting in a chair at the side of the tiny cot, but stood now and stretched. Merlin watched him, but could not help the confused, “But you hate me, why would you waste your time here with me?” that fell from his lips. He moved to rub at his eyes, and felt his arm erupt in a level of pain he did not ever remember having had experienced, and really would have preferred it to stay as such. He was wearing an oversized tunic of some sort, and prodded at it to see just how heavy of a bandage he wore beneath his sleeve.

A scuff on the floor told him Arthur had turned around again, and Merlin half-listened as he said, “Hate you? Why would you... Of course I don’t hate you!” followed by a huffed, “Stop poking at that and listen to me!” 

He found his hands taken away and placed in his lap, Arthur’s grip solid around his wrists. He followed the line from the callused and scarred hands up arms several shades darker than his own, across a layer of fine red fabric, and finally up to a slightly worried looking face with eyes that seemed to bore into his own. But that also did not make sense because eyes did not bore. They did not do much of anything other than see. Well, blink maybe, look around on occasion, and close. Closing his eyes seemed like a good idea. It would block out the annoying light and may have the benefit of allowing him to sleep and maybe, if he was lucky, things would make sense when he opened them again.

He wondered if he had spoken any of that aloud as the worried expression turned to one of amusement as Arthur told him, “No, you are not allowed to sleep again and, really, how hard did you hit your head because I do not remember you even falling.”

Merlin shook his head and watched the colours of the room briefly blur, only to right themselves in the same lack of sense. “Just tired,” he insisted. “Did a lot. Well, I think I did a lot. Seemed like a lot at the time.”

“You did do a lot,” Arthur agreed. His grip on Merlin’s wrists loosened, and eventually released to pat the hands now folded neatly in Merlin’s lap. “But let’s get back to the hating you part.”

Merlin made a face. “It’s not like I want you to hate me, it’s just you seem determined to do so and I’m not sure what to do to make it right again,” he explained in what he thought was a fairly logical manner.

Arthur ran a hand through his hair and sighed heavily. “How about you listen for a moment and see where that gets you and then we can go from there?” he suggested. He sat down heavily in the chair he so recently vacated and Merlin had the suspicion that whether he wanted to listen or not would make no difference as Arthur was determined to talk.

“I don’t hate you,” Arthur repeated after taking yet another calming breath. “Why would you think that I did?”

“Well, there was the whole imprisonment thing, the taking my room and my home away thing, the sending me away thing, the wanting nothing to do with me thing, and the not even being able to say my name but calling me ‘sorcerer’ like a curse thing,” Merlin ticked off on his fingers. He raised his eyebrows as far as he dared without risking a worse headache than he already had and silently dared Arthur to comment.

He got the headache anyway when Arthur spluttered for a moment before he found his words and near shouted, “I lifted the ban on magic for you! I gave you a title and rooms fitting of your new role as Court Sorcerer! I fired you as a servant seeing how you were to have far more important things to see to from now on!” Arthur leaned back in his chair and looked to the ceiling, to the multitude of books and shelves that had somehow appeared, and then finally back to Merlin. “I did, however, avoid you as much as possible,” he admitted with far less fervour.

“Why?” Merlin asked, needing to know this possibly more than anything else. Maybe it would also help explain why he was supposedly gifted with things that felt like punishments instead; the intention seeping through the presentation.

He half expected Arthur to shy away, to suddenly have some pressing court business that needed to be attended to now and only now and to have the issue brushed off to the side never to be dealt with again. Instead, Arthur offered another sigh, this one far more heartfelt than the last. “I needed time to sort things out, to make sense of something I thought of as evil for so long so obviously being used to do something good. I needed to think things through and figure out how you hid for so long and how much of everything that has been accomplished over these past years has been from my own hard work and strife, and how much has simply been from you,” he shrugged as if it were nothing when it was so clearly something so much more.

“It was from you, all of it,” Merlin insisted. A little sheepishly, he added, “I just sort of helped along the way.”

Arthur quirked his lips and said, “It’s that help I was trying to make sense of. How I never saw it, and how it did so much I might not have been able to accomplish without it. I started to resent the fact that I could not tell your accomplishments from my own. By then I had pushed you far enough away that it was simple enough to keep you there and to not have to think about any of this at all.” He paused and glanced away for a moment before he reluctantly forced himself to look at Merlin again. “When I started to come to terms with it, it seemed you had moved on to your new role with your open stories of magic and barely a thought about me. I thought maybe it would be better that way, at least for a while – separate the sorcerer from the king and the friend from the colleague.” He finished with his hands folded before him, looking as contrite as Merlin had ever seen him.

“You didn’t know how to get back in,” Merlin guessed. In a whisper that was purposefully loud in the quiet of the room, he confided, “You could have asked; might have saved us both a lot of headaches.”

Arthur snuffed out a laugh. “Probably,” he agreed. He sat up a bit straighter in his chair and asked, “So, Merlin, Sorcerer of Camelot, what do you say about renewing a friendship with your King? Picking up the pieces and seeing what we can make of them?”

“One piece. One coin; two sides,” Merlin corrected, remembering what he had heard far too long ago. At Arthur’s questioning look, he explained, “Something a ridiculous and often cryptic and pompous creature once said to me. He was kind of like you, really, now that I think of it.”

Arthur swatted him playfully on the shoulder, and then quickly apologized at Merlin’s wince and hiss of pain. “Think we can come to terms?” he asked with his head just slightly bowed, looking up through his lashes in a way Merlin knew meant he was unsure, but hopeful.

“Think we already did,” Merlin replied, and was rewarded with a full grin for his troubles. He looked around his former room, now all cramped with extra shelves piled high with scrolls and books. “What’s all this then anyway?” he asked.

“Get your lazy arse out of bed and I’ll show you,” Arthur teased. 

He stood and offered an arm, but Merlin was reluctant to take it. “Not lazy, tired,” he corrected. “And injured. Don’t forget injured. Not even going to ask how I got here. One moment I was showing you up and the next I am here. Must have been hurt worse than I thought.” It made a sort of sense, at least to him. Until proven otherwise, it was his story and he was sticking to it.

Arthur, of course, was determined to do that proving. “You fainted; fainted like a little girl,” he said gleefully. It was either Merlin’s stormy look or the memory that he was talking to someone who could throw him clear across the room and then some with nary a whisper as he quickly conceded, “Then again, few little girls take out half a legion single-handedly and go one on one against a sorcerer that can shoot green flames from his fingertips, so there’s that.”

Merlin made a face anyway and said, “So, after I...”

“Fainted,” Arthur helpfully supplied.

The face became a full on glare. “After I succumbed to my injuries and exhaustion, you decided it to move me from the larger chambers – which I have to admit I did not really like anyway – to my old chambers, but to shove as much stuff in here with me as possible?” he asked in confusion.

“Not quite,” Arthur replied. “Get up and I’ll explain,” he prodded, already moving towards the door.

Merlin’s body protested the movement, but he did as he was told anyways, likely from far too many years of taking orders from the same person giving them to him now. He pulled back the blankets to find that he still wore his trousers from the battle, but that he well and truly did not recognize the tunic. He wondered if it was another random clothing gift as he tried to push himself into a standing position, reluctantly accepting Arthur’s assistance when it seemed his muscles alternately locked or turned as soft as preserves, with no rhyme or reason as to what did which when.

The few steps it took him to reach the door steadied him quite a bit, and he probably could have made it down the short flight of steps on his own had Arthur let go, but the king seemed reluctant to do so and Merlin really was not complaining right now.

Before him he found Gaius’ workroom as expected only, much like his own room, with a few notable differences. The tables and stools and shelves were in the right places, but Gaius’ old cot had been replaced with a much larger bed. It could very well have been the same one as the room he had been given before and, of course, was currently bedecked in the various startling shades of blue Gwen had previously insisted upon. There was also a proper armoire, the table that had been at his original bedside, and a locked trunk that he could only guess what it held though, given that the Sidhe staff lay across it, the contents were likely not quite commonplace.

“Arthur?” he asked in confusion.

He looked to his one time, and hopefully future, friend to find him looking right back with what could only be called a hopeful expression upon his face. “Gwaine may, possibly, have indicated that you abhorred the official advisor chambers, and it was clear how much you favoured these chambers,” he shrugged with forced nonchalance. The action meant he had to let go of Merlin, but he stayed close enough that Merlin felt the fabric of his shirt rustle at the movement. 

“Did he now?” Merlin smiled.

Arthur cleared his throat only somewhat nervously and said, “Yes, and both Lancelot and Guinevere confirmed this assessment.”

“Well, I would hate to prove them wrong,” Merlin said, fighting to keep the smile from getting bigger. He then realized what Arthur had originally called his dour little room, and asked, “Wait, official advisor chambers? Those? With the dark and shadows and hidden away from everyone?”

Arthur simply shrugged again. “It’s not like my father ever had a lot of use of his advisors, and he rarely listened to the anyway. I think the last one left several years ago, really.” He paused and looked around the room, hands on his hips. “So, my Court Sorcerer, is this acceptable? You keep the Physician’s chambers given that you have shown an interest in continuing that trade as well, and a lock will be added to the door that leads to your once hovel and now private library for some of the more obviously magical texts. We have, of course, added a few additions given your new station, but I hope you see them as improvements because, really, they are.”

“Station?” Merlin asked dubiously. “I have a station?”

Arthur pursed his lips, but it looked more like he was attempting to hide a smirk than anything else. “Traditionally, prior to my father’s purge of all things magical, the court sorcerer served as a trusted advisor to the king. I can think of no one so trusted as the man who has saved my life on countless occasions,” he intoned with far more formality than was truly necessary. He let the smirk loose though, as he added, “Even if he did lie horrifically while doing so.”

“I lied to protect you!” Merlin protested. He resolutely did not pout. Legion-defeating sorcerers did not pout in the face of their king.

“And yourself,” Arthur pointed out, which was valid enough for even Merlin to admit. A little more serious now, Arthur asked, “So, what do you say?”

Merlin took in everything on offer, both the obvious and the far more subtle, and tried to school his face into as much of a solemn expression as he could muster as he said, “I do believe I must accept.”

Arthur’s shoulders seemed to sag a bit as the tension drained from him. “Excellent!” he commented and clapped his hands. “Now, first order of business as the official Court Sorcerer and Advisor to the King, is to tell me how I am supposed to get those men out of that glowing little cell you put them in. No one has the foggiest idea and it is probably not wise to simply build a prison around it.”

Merlin gulped. “They’re still there?” Night was rapidly approaching and the paddock was not that large. He could only imagine both the conditions and the furore by now. “I can set them free if you prefer,” he offered, hand raised to do just that.

“No, take your time,” Arthur waved him off, and it was then that Merlin realized he found the whole thing humorous. “They attacked the crown; they can sit and stew until you are well enough to come with me in the morning if need be. Leon and Percival have been throwing them bits of bread to see if it makes it through the bars. I think it’s a bit of a game now, really.”

“Leon and Percival?” Merlin blinked. It did not seem quite their preference to do such a thing.

“Well, it was Gwaine’s idea – I think he got them started with a promise of a flagon of wine should they hit the men who he says originally tried to attack you,” Arthur admitted, which seemed far more likely. “That reminds me, I believe I owe Gwaine a drink... and possibly a flogging.”

Merlin blinked again. “A drink because?” he prompted.

“He was correct in the assumption that you would prefer these chambers and an explanation as to my recent behaviour,” Arthur said a little sheepishly. Bolder now, he added, “And the flogging because of the attitude with which he presented his opinion.”

That actually made sense to Merlin’s tired little mind. Gwaine was fiercely loyal, but decorum was never his strong suit. He found a solution to the impasse going on between Arthur and himself, and implemented it in the best way he knew possible, likely with verbage not quite appropriate for one’s supposed sovereign. “Don’t flog him, he was only doing what he thought was best,” Merlin requested.

Arthur bobbed his head in reluctant agreement. “And I will not give him drink as the man surely can find enough on his own, so I suppose a simple thank you and a reminder of proper etiquette will have to do.”

Merlin doubted either would matter to the knight, but if Arthur desired it, it would not hurt to let him have it. Of all the options, it was the least likely to end in bloodshed or time in the dungeons. He was about to agree just for the sake of saying something, but was stopped by a yawn that he swore made his jaw make the most interesting of noises.

“Go to bed,” Arthur ordered. He gestured to the blue monstrosity in the corner and not the little cot up the steps. “I assume an actual real mattress would be more comfortable than that thing in your library.” 

Merlin had a feeling that the “thing” as Arthur called his cot, would be gone by the time he next awoke. Despite his exhaustion, he hesitated, certain there were more things to do or more things to say. He had received so many answers in such a short period of time, and he feared letting the opportunity pass him by when there was so much more they could say, so many more explanations to be given, if only he could focus long enough to remember them all.

“There will be time enough later,” Arthur promised him as though reading his mind. “I plan to have a long rule, and you have just accepted a position at my side.”

“I did, didn’t I?” Merlin agreed, far too pleased with something he knew he may at times regret in the future.

Arthur shoved him towards the bed only to catch him when he stumbled. The king shook his head good-naturedly and made a show of tucking his sorcerer in beneath the layers of coverlets. “I will have a meal sent around for when you are capable of eating it and not using it as a pillow,” he promised. He turned to leave, but looked back over his shoulder to say, “And Merlin? For all those times I did not know to say it, thank you.”

Arthur closed the door behind him, but Merlin liked to believe that he had seen his sleepy smile and heard his whispered, “You are welcome.”

End.

**Author's Note:**

> I wanted to subtitle this fic “In which boys are emo because they are incapable of talking about their feelings,” but Threnodyjones would not let me. *pout*


End file.
